


Take A Breath

by NosAstra



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ensuring Consent, F/M, Mentions of Reluctant Intimacy, Well as happy of an ending as a weird magical sex ritual can get
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23395348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NosAstra/pseuds/NosAstra
Summary: "She hasn’t seen what an archdemon’s death can do to a Warden. And it steels her. She doesn’t ever want to. And she knows sweet, beautiful, kind-hearted Alistair – who never once tells her what to do or renders judgment on how she lives her life – would tear away her choice to sacrifice herself in an instant. And she wouldn’t be able to stop him. So she takes a breath and continues."~A re-imagining of how that conversation on the night before the battle could have gone between the Warden and Alistair. My Alistair deserved more explanation, more emotional comfort, and most importantly, the emphasis that he could have said no if he wanted to. Enjoy!
Relationships: Alistair/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Female Mahariel/Tamlen (Implied)
Kudos: 15





	Take A Breath

“I see that you can’t sleep, either,” a deep, warm voice called out to her. Aravae peered further into the room from where she lingered on the threshold, catching the golden brown glint of the Grey Warden’s eyes. He smiled easily at her – and by the Creators, it made her feel like coming home – and leaned against the bedpost next to him. She smiled back without even thinking, the giddiness of young love overlapping with the nervousness of Morrigan’s request until she felt close to overflowing with panic and had to drag her gaze away from him.

_Breathe, da’len._ She can hear the Keeper’s voice in her head. It brings back memories of her as a small girl curled up on the warm wood of the aravel, crying and gasping for air. _Your lungs are your own. Allow yourself to breathe._

Alistair seemed to take her nervousness in stride – they had just experienced the most depressing and difficult conversation of their relatively short career with the eldest Warden next door, Riordan. Maybe that’s why he didn’t immediately rush to her side. She felt cold all of a sudden, like the distance between them had already begun to grow, before she even uttered the words. “I did notice Morrigan standing outside your room on my way here, though,” he started. She stopped breathing and looked up at him suddenly. He was still leaning suavely against the bed, arms gently clasped in front of him, staring at her warmly. But weary – Creators, so weary. He seemed so much older than the young boy she met at Ostagar. “Gave me an icy glare, that one – and I’m used to her glares at this point, but this one - ,” he shuddered exaggeratedly, “ - a real blizzard. Is everything alright?”

She takes a deep breath and tries to force her heart to calm its rapid beating until his earlier words catch up to her. “Wait, you can’t sleep? What’s wrong?”

Alistair’s face instantly falls and she almost regrets asking. “It’s just – the looks everyone here has given me since we arrived. So many of these people think they’re going to die tomorrow. …So many of them will. It’s – it’s just becoming so much more real.”

Aravae makes a small noise in somber agreement, and they’re quiet for a moment before he pipes up again, “Buuuut you changed the subject. I may be tired, but I’m not stupid –“

“No, I didn’t – “ she starts, but he keeps talking, “What’s wrong, my dear?” He’s staring at her with more focus in his eyes now, the vines of concern and worry starting to creep around his expression.

_Dread Wolf take me for what I’m about to ask of him._

“Morrigan came to me with some…interesting news.”

He laughs, tired and easy, “Oh, did she? Curdled cheese stores in the cellars? Are we all out of spider legs for her dinner? Or do witches eat something far less appetizing?”

He’s too cheerful for this kind of news, and the further it builds up, the worse the drop into anger and disbelief it will be – but she can’t do anything about that, she just has to tell him the truth, tell him –

“I love you,” she blurts out. “You…you know that, right?”

Alistair’s eyes go soft and he smiles at her, warm and grateful. “As do I, my love. But Maker, you really are making this sound quite ominous. What in the world is it?”

It’s too much. He’s too good for her. Too trusting. She can’t do this, can’t ask this – but then all she can see is him tearing the sword away from her and leaping on top of a dragon, all she can envision is his body being torn apart by two souls clashing for the same existence only to cancel each other out in a blast of magic and destruction. She hasn’t seen what an archdemon’s death can do to a Warden. And it steels her. She doesn’t ever want to. And she knows sweet, beautiful, kind-hearted Alistair – who never once tells her what to do or renders judgment on how she lives her life – would tear away her choice to sacrifice herself in an instant. And she wouldn’t be able to stop him. So she takes a breath and continues.

“What if I told you there was another way to deal with the archdemon tomorrow?”

Alistair raises an eyebrow at that – _good, at least his attention is piqued_ – and replies, “Besides running for the hills in our underclothes, I’m assuming? What is it?”

_“I’d recommend you be very convincing, my friend,”_ Morrigan’s voice rings in her head.

“Your wildest dreams come true: sex with Morrigan,” Aravae blurts out nervously. WHAT. NO. That’s not how she meant to say that at ALL! By the blighted Dread Wolf – JOKES?!

Alistair barks a loud laugh and resettles against the post he’s leaning against, “Oh man, good one! Nice way to relieve the tension. So what is it really?”

_If you really are real, Creators, just reach down and kill me now, please._ Nothing happens for a beat, so she barely looks Alistair in the eye and mumbles, “I’m serious. It’s – it’s part of a magical ritual.”

She’s staring very intently at the floor, waiting for the outlash, until she hears Alistair chuckle again and she looks back up at him. He’s staring at her fondly and laughs, “That’s cute. I get it, payback for all my jokes in the past.”

He really doesn’t need to make this so difficult, with his perfect face and his damned good heart and his willingness to help and his ridiculous weakness for bloody sacrifice and –

“Wait, you’re – you’re not joking, are you?” he stands up straight now, staring intently at her, and it’s the first time she’s felt uncomfortable under his piercing gaze. “You’re serious,” he breathes out.

The two Wardens stare at each other for a pause. _The arrow’s already nocked, da’len. You must follow through._ And of course, she thinks of the Keeper’s words now, as accurate as they are when she’s about to break the heart of the love of her life as they were when she was hunting a deer in the woods for the first time – it had sensed her but not run away, did not know the danger she presented, what she would do to it once the clan’s bellies started to grumble. Either she tells him everything and hopes that the bond they’ve built over the months is as strong as she thinks it is or she tells him everything and he hates her forever – in which case, she can take the final blow and he wouldn’t be any worse for wear. So she takes a breath and continues.

“I’m afraid I am. Morrigan knows an ancient ritual – old magic, before the Circle of Magi – that can bind the soul of the Archdemon to a target other than a Warden.”

“What? What other target?”

“A…” Deep breath. “A child.” She can’t keep her voice from breaking on the word.

“WHAT?!” And here it comes. She braces herself.

“I – I must be hearing things because otherwise, I’d have heard you implying that I’d need to _impregnate_ Morrigan in some kind of ancient and magical sex ritual?!

Aravae gently nods, watching him keenly. She needs to know how he feels about all this, needs to answer all his questions, so he can make a calm and informed decision. She will not force this on him, she cannot, and if he doesn’t agree to this, she has other plans to make. Requests of other companions to make sure they hold him back from the final blow. Knows he’ll hate her for it, but she’ll hate herself if she forces him to share such an intimate experience with someone he hates.

Alistair’s jaw is hanging before he seems to take a cue from Aravae’s façade of calm. He starts pacing in the short space between the bed and the wall, his eyes flitting about in thought.

“This – this _child_ ,” the word clearly spat out in disgust, “why would Morrigan even want such a thing? Does she want an heir to the throne?”

“No, she’s expressed extreme distaste for the idea. I think she wants to reclaim the soul of the Old God, untainted and separated from the madness of the dragon itself.”

“Oh! Well, that’s so much _better_ , don’t you think?!” Alistair blurts out, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Here I was worried about creating another bastard heir and I didn’t even _consider_ that it might also be some dragon…god…whatever!” He throws his hands up in defeat, before resting them on his hips and staring at the floor, breathing loudly and quickly in the small space.

Aravae stares at him, stunned. She had thought of the implication that the child would be a bastard – knew how much that might hurt him – but did he say what she thinks he did? That he was _already_ worried? About having a child who might not know his father?

“Look.” His voice sounds even more weary than before, almost like it was after Ostagar, and her heart squeezes painfully in her chest. “Even if I was willing to entertain this idea – and I’m not saying that I am! – is this…really what you want me to do?” Alistair reaches back with one arm and finds purchase on the chair behind him, pulling it away from the desk so he can slump into it. He looks like a tired king like this, and Aravae gets a glimpse into what his life might have looked like had he ended up on the throne instead. It’s then that he looks up at her, right into her eyes, and she stills. “Are you sure…?” he asks, in the quietest voice that she can tell is drenched with fear.

She moves towards him gently (he doesn’t flinch as she does, which she takes as a good sign – he doesn’t hate her completely yet) and sits across from him on the bed. Her hands fidget in her lap and she has to keep them entertained with the straps on her armor so she can stop thinking about leaning over and taking his hands in hers instead. She makes sure to keep eye contact with him as she sighs, “I don’t like the idea that much, either.”

He lets out a breath neither had realized he was holding. “Phew. Well, that’s a relief.”

“But – “ Alistair sighs at that and she leans forward beseechingly and continues, “ _But_. Why do you think I brought it up, Alistair?”

“I – I don’t know, to be honest.”

Now it is Aravae who sighs and stares down at her hands. “I admit, I kind of botched the delivery. But I didn’t know how to say it in a way that – well, in a way that wouldn’t make you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he rebuts quickly. She looks into his eyes, searching for something – genuine, truthful – and smiles at what she finds there.

“Engaging in secret rituals with Morrigan isn’t my favorite pastime, much less so when she’s tight-lipped about the aftermath. And knowing a child would be involved, growing up without its father… I knew how much that would hurt you, given your past.”

She pauses and Alistair gently prods, “So why did you bring it up?”

“Because I would do anything for you.”

“You would sleep with an evil witch and have a baby for me?”

“No – I mean, yes of course, but no, I meant – “ she groans in frustration. “Let’s be realistic about tomorrow. Best case scenario, Riordan manages to get the killing blow – I would hate to lose him, but it seems to be in line with Grey Warden tradition that the eldest gets the choice and the…honor, as morbid as it is. But. Worst case scenario…”

Alistair huffs and looks at the floor.

“Worst case scenario, one of us has to kill it. One of us will die.”

Her voice is so quiet in the room, and it feels like a curse to speak those words aloud, even though they’ve both been thinking them. Alistair is still staring pointedly at the floor.

“And I know you won’t let me kill it.”

His head snaps up to meet her gaze at that, and she knows at once her gut instinct was right. He opens his mouth to say something in response, deny it or maybe lie (and if he does, it will break her heart a little), but he sees something in her expression that makes him close it again. Instead, he just stares at her helplessly.

Finally, he says something, his throat cracking on the vowels, “I can’t. I could never – if you were to…”

She gives in and reaches out to grab his hands. They’re cold and clammy in her hands, but they fit together, grasp at each other instinctively, holding on tight enough it almost hurts.

“I know, my love. I know,” she soothes.

“I can’t live in a world without you. Not anymore. There’s nothing left for me here.”

A tear is starting to fall down his cheek and she wants to tell him that isn’t true, but… she knows how much he’s lost, knows the tragedy his life has been. The only person in his life who loved him was Duncan, and when he lost him…well, she still hears him crying in his sleep sometimes, whimpering his name. Too many times she’d had to wake him up, worried and frenzied, trying to soothe him and kiss all the tears off his face.

“And what do you think I have left without you, _vhenan_?”

Alistair sniffles, ears perked up at the Elven word she had taught him a few weeks back, and smiles sadly at her. “You could move on from me, I’m sure. You have your clan and the Grey Wardens… You have Zevran.”

“Zevran?”

Alistair’s ears turn pink and he looks away. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. Sometimes, it’s like looking in a mirror,” he laughs emptily. “He…he could make you happy when I’m gone.”

“ _Fenedhis_! What in the abyss are you talking about, _vhenan_?”

“You have so much to live for, my love,” he whispers, cradling her face in his hands. “I want you to be happy, more than anything else in the world.”

“You think I would be happy in a world without you? You think I could fall asleep so quickly in another person’s arms? That I wouldn’t be haunted every single second of the image of your body, drenched in blood – _my body, drenched in your blood_ – as the archdemon’s soul tore you apart? That I wouldn’t regret every second I wasted not getting to it first? That I could just brush it off and walk away into the sunset, into new adventures?”

Aravae’s getting angry now, and Alistair’s hands are gentle on her skin, eyes flitting on her face, trying to read her expression.

“I can’t go back to my clan. Not forever, not permanently. It would never be the same, _vhenan_. They may welcome me back, but the things I’ve seen – the things _we’ve_ seen – who can return to a quiet life of hunting and roaming after that? And everywhere I look, I’ll see memories of _him_ ,” her voice cracks and _fenedhis_ , _keep it together!_

“I know,” Alistair whispers, holding her hands instead and squeezing them. “I’m sorry.” He had helped her cope with Tamlen’s death while she helped him with Duncan’s. Had been understanding enough to recognize that sometimes, first loves never die, especially when they’re torn away from you so horrendously. Had fallen in love with her partly because of how passionate she was about people, and how much he felt she deserved the same.

“…And the Grey Wardens? Go back to a group that will remind me of your death every day? Every time someone mentions the word sacrifice, or every time I see a tuft of hair the same color as yours from the back, every time roses bloom at the keep?”

Alistair’s eyes are red now, and his cheeks are wet from silent tears.

“And _Zevran?_ He’s one of the best friends I’ve made on this journey, this is true. But if you think I could so easily fall into his bed if you die, then I have not been showing you just how deeply and thoroughly I love you.”

And that’s what breaks him. He leans into Aravae’s shoulder and starts sobbing as quietly as he can, while she grabs at him and holds him close to her body, rubbing his back as she does. Her own tears are soaking his shirt, and while she’d happily cry with him until they both fell asleep, she knows the night is only passing further along. They need to make a decision.

So she pulls away gently as Alistair starts to sniffle instead of sob, and she wipes away his tears with her thumbs while her own dry on her cheeks.

“If you leave, I will, too,” she whispers. “Not deliberately, perhaps, not suddenly. But if you die, I’ll be a husk of a person shambling through life. And if I die, so will you.”

Alistair nods at that, helplessly. She closes her eyes, takes a breath, and continues.

“That’s why I brought up the ritual. Every word of it hurt like the Void to utter, but I needed you to know that it was an option.”

A sniffle, then a slightly surprised glance. “An…an _option_?”

“Only an option. If you really don’t want to go through with this, I would understand. I’m not about to force something like this on you, _vhenan_. I never would.”

Alistair smiles at that, small but adoring. “So… I could say no? No to evil magic babies?”

Aravae huffs out a surprised laugh, “It’s not an evil magic baby _exactly_ , but…yes. You can absolutely say no if you want to.”

He stares at her for a second, searching her eyes while his thumb absent-mindedly caresses her own where their hands are intertwined. “You’ve got a backup plan, don’t you?” he surmises.

_Damn._ “Mm. I suppose that’s what _I_ get for falling in love with the most perceptive man in Thedas.”

He chuckles low and smirks for a moment. His head turns to the side as he lets out a breath, staring at the light pouring in through the doorway, before turning back to her.

“And what if we unleash something worse on the world with this? Could we – could we live with ourselves?”

Aravae nods thoughtfully, “I had considered that, trust me.”

“But?”

A sigh. “But – strange as it may seem, I…I trust Morrigan.” She looks up, expecting to see Alistair with one brow up in disbelief, perhaps looking at her like she grew an extra limb, but instead he’s staring at her, expression intent and serious.

“She’s my friend, and I know she would not betray me. Not on the battlefield and not in this. …I think deep down, Morrigan wants to understand the old world better.”

“By having an evil god baby?”

“It’s not _evil_ , necessarily. Creators, it doesn’t even exist yet.”

“…Yet.”

“Hypothetically.”

Alistair lets out a deep, tired groan. “Alright.”

Aravae lets out a breath and stares at him. “Are you sure?”

“Not entirely, no.”

“Then you don’t have to –“

“But you are. And I trust you. Maker, do I trust you.”

The couple stare at each other for a moment, hands nervously trying to soothe each other where they’re clasped, before Alistair lets out another breath.

“Ugh, where is she? Let’s go and get this over with before – well,”

“Before you come back to me and we cry ourselves to sleep together?

“Aha, there’s the morbid and witty woman I love. Yes, before we cry ourselves to sleep together in a nice, comfy bed before the biggest battle of our life.”

Aravae smiles and stands up, pulling Alistair gently with her, and they walk down the hall towards a room filled with the nervous tapping of a mage’s fingers as they all await tomorrow’s fate.

Morrigan can sense her as soon as she steps into the room and whirls around from where she’s leaning against the fireplace mantle. She sees Alistair there and regards him no differently, eyes instead catching on the hands intertwined between the two Wardens. She smiles a little, without realizing it, and looks Aravae in the eyes.

“T’would seem your chat is done?”


End file.
